


Vouloir le Beurre et L’argent du Beurre

by Marasa



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: AU, Arranged Marriage, Crime Family, Love at First Sight, M/M, Organized Crime, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marasa/pseuds/Marasa
Summary: Kendall has once again found a seat at his criminal family's table after a failed attempt to overthrow his father. Although he recognizes himself lucky to have been brought back into the fold rather than expelled to the bottom of a lake, he knows to dine with the Roys is to indulge in life's finer pleasures at the expense of one's soul.Kendall's willing to give it all up for the handsome man reading a book and dining alone.
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	1. Monday: Duck with Chaud-froid d’euf

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is based off the film The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover. While it follows the outline of that story and includes major elements from it, I've tweaked some things to fit these characters. You don't have to have seen the film to enjoy this fic (though it's a great movie); it's a story about crime, greed, excess, falling in love and secret relationships. I thought these elements fit perfectly with Succession, so here we are. 
> 
> I've always admired Peter Greenaway's use of color in the film and thought it would be fun to include it here. Each setting has a designated color scheme and the color of the characters' costumes change as they move from room to room, so it's not a mistake when a red dress is suddenly green in the next paragraph lol
> 
> Enjoy and bon appetit!

Kendall sucked on his cigarette outside the car while Logan and his goons wiped the floor with some poor sod that owed them money.

The restaurant’s neon signage above them flickered, resulting in a strobe-like effect on the violent scene unravelling on the street. Every time the figures emerged once again from the darkness, there was more blood down the man’s bare chest, a more detached sheen in his eyes. Kendall looked regretfully upon the scene but knew his inability to put an end to this chaos; it was a storm, a tempest, and they were all along for the ride.

Swim or drown--that was the Roys’ MO.

Kendall’s stomach growled. He was getting hungry.

“Finish up with him out here,” Logan spat, flicking the blood from his hand onto the damp pavement. “And _don’t_ kill him. I don’t need the extra headache trying to bribe the police. They’re losing all patience with us and it’s because of scammers and liars like this, because of what they make us do.”

“Yeah!” Tom said nearby, but his voice was too loud and obnoxious to fit this sight of violence, like an upbeat soundtrack played over a gruesome crime movie.

Kendall threw down his cigarette and stomped it beneath black rubber soles. Logan adjusted the blue sash over his chest and nodded to his son. “Let’s go inside; I’m starving.”

They all wore the same attire: long black suit jackets over pressed white button-ups, fuck-you black boots and a silk sash from left shoulder to right hip. The excess hung like a ribbon down to mid-thigh. Logan had always been a fan of the royals and army men of history. There had been ample opportunity for him to participate in war throughout his eighty-one years but he’d always declined with some grumbled excuse. When his nefarious business became more lucrative, he plastered his home with great oil paintings from Europe and Russia depicting militia officers huddled around globes and maps spread across low tables, their army medals glistening on the canvas, their attire noble.

Then he started dressing like them on special occasions. He bought this upscale restaurant a year ago and had made it his first duty to dictate the dress code for all diners: Formal for the common folk. Silk sashes and boots for his company. 

The cook at the huge pot of soup in the middle of the kitchen was shirtless. 

The Roy dining party filtered in through the front doors and into the kitchen. It was already eight pm and the staff was in full swing. Despite the large size of the kitchen, it was hot and damp, smelling overwhelmingly of spices and cut vegetables as sweaty cooks bustled around the Roys. Kitchen assistants plucked chickens up on the loft. Some feathers fell over the metal railing and floated like snow through the air to land on and around them.

Kendall picked a downy feather from his sleeve while Tom removed a feather from atop Kendall’s head.

“Frank!” Logan called out, his voice echoing in the spacious room. “Where is Frank? We’ve worked up an appetite and we don’t want to waste anymore time!” 

Frank, the head chef at _Argestes_ , appeared from behind the emerald curtain half-drawn over the walk-in pantry, a jar of cloves in hand. 

“Mr. Roy,” he greeted diplomatically. “It’s very nice to see you.”

“And I’d like to see my table,” Logan said.

Frank snapped the fingers of his free hand to get the attention of a frantic server unloading dirty dishes into the sink. He came over on long, gangly legs, wiping his slender fingers on the towel on his waist.

“Greg, show Mr. Roy to his table, please.”

“What’re we having tonight, Frank?” Shiv asked, readjusting the handbag on her arm and brushing a feather from her sheer shawl. “I’m not really in the mood for fowl.”

“I’m sorry, but tonight’s menu is duck with chaud-froid d’oeuf.”

“You will be sorry if you don’t find something else in this god-forsaken kitchen to whip up for my daughter,” Logan hissed. “Who’s paying the bills around here?”

Frank did not shy away from Logan’s barking but raised his chin that much of a fraction higher, speaking level and certain in a way that garnered Kendall’s full respect. “You are, sir.”

“That’s what I thought. What do you want to eat, Pinkie?”

Shiv shrugged a shoulder. “Salmon would be nice.”

Greg led the party out into the dining room. Kendall trailed at the back, looking up at the feathers wafting on the damp air and fluttering into the kitchen. He lifted his hand in front of him to allow a feather to land on the back of it, the gentle sensation as faint as a kiss. Kendall turned to look at Frank. A strength glistened in the head chef’s eyes, set additionally in his jaw, and Kendall thought it would be more fitting in oil on canvas. 

The dining room’s red interior matched the men’s sashes and Shiv’s extravagant dress. Blood-red table cloths covered each table, including the largest at the center of the restaurant. The Roys’ table would always be theirs, empty and awaiting their return every weekday except Sunday. It felt more like a war table from one of Logan’s favorite paintings and these were Logan’s soldiers finding their seats at it. 

Logan sat at the table’s center while Kendall sat immediately to his father’s right. His father’s employees, regularly rotated in and out at Logan’s interest, fanned around the family and chattered horrendously, already growing rowdy when Greg returned with a bottle of red wine. They battled for the crimson flow of alcohol with their glasses, their jostling causing it to spill over onto their laps. 

Roman giggled wildly at the meat-headed grunts as they complained of their wet crotches.

“What are you doing spilling wine on my guests?” Logan yelled at the bewildered server. The other patrons sitting at nearby tables turned to face the commotion, foreign to them but now so familiar to the Roys. Nevertheless, Kendall looked down at the plate in front of him to avoid the appalled expressions of strangers.

His father used to be different. More refined, maybe. Or at least more manageable in his horribleness. The influx of cash money and the influence he was cultivating over shady politicians and those with power who he managed to trap in his blackmailing schemes, however, had turned him terribly sour. He was more than a gruff criminal, now; he was a dictator.

Kendall had changed too. They all had, for they had been different at the start of their father’s criminal career before quickly finding out what happened when they voiced any opinion that contradicted the Great Logan Roy’s grand plan. Roman had found out in a back-handed slap across the mouth. That was years ago, but his broken tooth still expressed great sensitivity and hurt. Shiv had found out when she was refused her fair share of the action with little remorse. Kendall had found out when he was exiled for close to half a year after his attempt to put an end to his father. 

He had been shocked to see the jump from intimidation to real violence, had been sickened substantially by it. The night he’d seen it with his own eyes in a back alley outside of the realm as gross rumor had been the night he began planning Logan Roy’s downfall. Kendall worked closely with Logan’s opponents to arrange for his father’s arrest; he was a danger, he said, a monstrous growth on this city that just might kill them all if given the opportunity. 

It had all been for nought in the end; Logan had been expecting him.

Kendall was unsure of how he knew, but felt in his soul a sickening truth that this devil wearing his father’s face might have known Kendall better than Kendall knew himself. 

Six months after Logan had told him none too kindly to get lost, Kendall had no choice but to crawl back with his tail between his legs, strung-out, dirtied, absolutely no money to his name.

Now he was back to sitting at his father’s right side, awaiting a five-star dinner. It might not have seemed like it, but it had cost him a lot to be here. It had cost him all his freedom, all individuality, all morality. These elements of himself were still here, aching excruciatingly in his chest, but it was his job to ignore them in favor of being kept alive. 

This was the only life he’d known. Without it, he’d be dead.

Greg left the table to fetch some towels to mop up the mess in the diners’ laps while Logan berated his company for being such ill-behaved gourmets. Gourmets did not fight over wine, for they knew there’d be plenty. 

“Like a bunch of dogs fighting over a scrap of meat,” Logan said as the h'orderves arrived. “Are these the people I surround myself with?”

Kendall tuned him out like he usually did. It was for his own sanity; he frequently felt his mask of numbness slipping and he feared what would happen if he became too conscious of his life and the fact he was a prisoner in his own family. Kendall peered around the restaurant idly. Wives sat across from their husbands. Lawyers dined with clients. Aspiring politicians rubbed elbows with seasoned donors like overinflated cash machines.

And then, by the kitchen door, there was a bespectacled man sat dining alone. He held a novel open in his right hand, a spoon in the other. He scooped up some soup and brought it to his mouth without breaking his eyes from the page. 

Kendall did not blink. He could not breathe. One look had rendered his world completely inverted; he was absolutely confused at his own reaction but enjoyed the dizzying rush of blood to his head. Black curls atop his head, his beard trimmed and well-kept; the man wore a simple red suit and while it fit the criteria of formal wear, it was less flashy than those at the surrounding tables. Still, he was spectacular. He effortlessly drew Kendall’s attention as well as his heart without even being conscious of it. What was it that he was reading, Kendall wondered. He tried to read the cover but his eyes fell on the man’s hands instead. His gaze trailed over the man’s knuckles, his wrist, up his arms, the side of his neck, his handsome face.

The man smiled at something on the page. Kendall’s stomach went weightless, a small smiling tugging at his own lips.

“Kendall!”

Kendall startled, nearly gasping. He turned to his father. “What?”

“I’m telling the table about our current plan and it concerns you so you best keep focused instead of staring at the wall.”

Kendall nodded, swallowed. He returned his attention to his plate but something was breaking open inside of him, spilling forth and burning his heart like lava. 

“So,” Logan began, “it would seem after our meeting with Nan Pierce, she wants nothing to do with us. We polished up, sang the right tune, promised her every bit of dirt on her opponents and direct cash deposits as long as she gave us a little leeway but she still shut the door in our faces. Well, tough shit. Because we’re weaseling ourselves into her little empire by the time she takes her place as governor of this beautiful state whether she likes it or not.”

The table gave an excited, and rather obnoxious, laugh. Tom could be heard a little louder than all the others as he elbowed Roman on his left. Roman glared at him, his lip snarling. 

“And how will we do it? A rat. We send in a rat, someone to infiltrate and be our presence in her inner circle. We all know now that Nan works closely with her niece; Naomi practically calls the shots. She’s the only one Nan apparently listens to, so if we get to her--”

“We get to Nan,” Shiv finished for him, looking rather impressed over her bowl of soup. 

Kendall took a deep breath. His fingers twisted in the red fabric napkin held in his lap. He chanced one more glance at the man sitting by the kitchen just in time to see him turn his attention from his book. 

The world could have ended right there but Kendall wouldn’t have noticed. He was entirely invested in the warmth of the man’s gaze and the increasing burn it elicited within his chest; it was a miracle Kendall didn’t combust right there. And Kendall could have sworn the expression on the stranger’s face reflected a similar state as the one he found himself in. This shared eye contact between them was like a sword delving into Kendall’s chest and twisting there and surprisingly, he wanted that sensation again and again. 

“So who’s gonna be the rat?” Roman asked, hunched over his soup bowl, a bit dribbling from the corner of his mouth. 

Logan smiled devilishly. “Kendall.”

Kendall’s attention was pulled away this time by his father’s hand colliding with the table with such force that it rattled every plate and set of silverware on it. He flinched and snapped his head forward, breathless either from his entire world having just been redefined or his father’s weakening patience.

“Naomi Pierce is single and it just so happens that she’s taken a liking to Kendall, distracted as he may be with the design of the fucking wallpaper,” Logan said. “It won’t be much work at all. All that needs to be done is to get them together and then get them married. Then Nan can’t force us out.”

“Married?” Shiv sputtered. “As in _married_ married. An actual marriage.”

“As real as yours and Tom’s.” Shiv glared at this answer, rolling her eyes and busying herself with her food while Tom rested a hand on his wife’s thigh beneath the table. Logan’s voice fell deeper, more serious. “It’s the least my son can do after trying and failing to incarcerate me and tank his entire family, the family that has given him everything from love to relevance. But! Water under the bridge. Isn’t that right, Kendall?”

Kendall rose from his chair. “Excuse me,” he murmured but it went mostly unheard given Greg had just returned with more wine and thus the table was greatly distracted. 

Kendall was near breathless as he hurried down the hallway. He pushed the door open to the men’s room and went to the sink. He gripped the cool porcelain, his cheeks and neck slightly flushed, though his blush appeared darker in contrast to the white marble flooring and walls of the bathroom and the stark white sash across his chest. 

He couldn’t be sure what was happening to him. Something in his very being had just tipped over and was to never be righted again. He’d think himself sick with fever if not for the purest joy frolicking in his stomach and the pleasant burning of his heart like the hearth of a home he didn’t know he had. 

The bathroom door opened. 

There the man stood, staring at Kendall. His glasses had been pocketed and his novel was left waiting for him at his table. He was beautiful in the warm light of the bathroom, a painting, a sculpture standing in all white. 

Kendall pushed himself away from the sink to face him.

There was an unseen force, a magnetism, drawing them together. It was as if they couldn’t stand the distance between them any longer and when Kendall took a step forward, so did the man until they were standing chest to chest. The fragrant scent of the woody cologne radiating from the soft skin of the man’s throat was intoxicating. Their faces were close enough now that Kendall could feel the man’s breath on his cheek while Kendall barely touched his fingers to the lapels of the man’s suit jacket.

Their fingers met, shyly at first and then more confident, threading together. The gaze they shared only faltered when they glanced at the other’s parted lips. 

Kendall gripped the man’s hand tighter in his own and led him into a nearby bathroom stall. 

Immediately, they were on each other in a fervor. They pressed their lips together, mouths falling open to allow for curious flicks of tongue and soft moans to be heard between them. 

Kendall had never felt hunger like this. He had never been so on fire for someone, never so eaten up from the inside out, and all for a man he’d just met no less. He was sure he would fall apart into a million pieces right here from the sheer intensity of it but then there were arms around him, lips at his throat, a tongue sliding across his racing pulse and he had to stay together for this, for him.

The sash slipped off of Kendall’s shoulder and hung at the crook of his elbow. The buttons of his shirt nearly busted off in the hurry to unbutton them, an endeavor left uncompleted when just a few undone gave sight to the soft skin of his chest and his hard nipples.  
  
The man delved down to suck kisses across Kendall’s collarbones, his sternum. Kendall panted as quietly as he could as he held the man’s head against him as he took a nipple into his mouth, suckling and licking over it. Kendall slid a hand down the man’s front and into his pants. The man moaned against Kendall’s chest as Kendall took his cock into his hand, hot palm against hot shaft. Holding him in his hand, Kendall could feel the man’s pulse in the shaft of his cock, the precum beading at his slit speaking to his eagerness. Kendall began stroking him, his mouth falling open when a hand slipped down the back of Kendall’s pants, the man’s strong fingers sliding along the cleft of his ass.

“Ken!”

Kendall’s fingernails clawed into the man’s scalp. His grip tightened around the throbbing cock cradled tenderly in his grip. There was a single second of stillness between them and then they separated hurriedly, Kendall staring wide-eyed at the stall door while the man carefully stepped up onto the toilet seat to erase his feet from sight underneath the door.

Roman’s footsteps echoed throughout the bathroom. The sink ran for a second or two and Kendall could imagine Roman picking his teeth in the mirror. “Ken. You in here?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“What are you doing?”

“Going to the bathroom,” Kendall said as he wiped saliva from his nipples and buttoned up his shirt. His eyes fell shut at the feeling of hands holding his biceps, thumbs stroking there comfortingly. 

Roman gave a short scoff of jaded amusement. “Dad thinks you’re on drugs again. He said that’s why you’ve been staring off into space. Now he thinks you’re taking bumps in here. Me, Shiv and Tom are taking bets on whether or not you’ve fallen off the wagon. So? Have you?”

“Roman. Fuck off.”

“It’s gonna be bad if you’re using again because then you’ll fuck up this whole Pierce job and Dad won’t let that happen. I think he’ll actually kill you if you fuck this up. Full on murder, dude. So, just, flush whatever you have and leave it here. Next time I’ll have no choice but to tell him.”

Kendall placed a hand over the man’s on his shoulder now, rested his head on it. “Get out.”

“Fine, fine. Hurry up.”

They waited with bated breath until they heard the bathroom door open and close. Kendall exhaled deeply in a shaky panic, of which blared in the silence of the bathroom. The man stepped off of the toilet seat and onto the floor. His hands found Kendall’s waist and he brought Kendall in for another kiss, this time slower and calming his anxiety. They pressed their foreheads together and breathed heavily against the other’s lips.

“Tell me your name,” Kendall whispered against his lips. His fingers curled against the man’s cheek. “Please.”

“Stewy.”

Kendall pulled Stewy into another wet kiss that lingered a second too long; it was just so hard to let him go.

“And yours?” Stewy whispered, so heartfelt and quiet.

“Kendall.”

“Kendall.” Stewy stroked his thumb over Kendall’s slick bottom lip. “Kendall.”

“I have to go,” and Kendall felt like he might cry after saying as much. “I-- I’m sorry, I have to go--”

“It’s okay.” Stewy nodded. “Kendall, it’s okay.”

And when Stewy kissed him again, Kendall almost believed he was right and that it would be all okay.

Almost.


	2. Tuesday: Beef Bourguignon with Pappardelle Pasta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy!

Friends were good to have. The Roys had plenty of friends.

They had friends in the law and in the police force and in politics, but those weren’t the kind of friends you dined with. They fell into the category more like “man’s best friend” and would reside beneath them. 

But up here there were empty chairs, so Logan enlisted his children’s help to fill them with new friends. 

Roman had brought along a very reluctant friend by the name of Mr. Lawrence Yer. He was a superstar in the tech world dressed in a black suit jacket, a red button up and a very disapproving scowl. Kendall saw this as evidence of an intact morality and was, therefore, not as bothered by it as some other members of his family. 

“Did my brother lure you here with the promise of a five star meal?” Shiv asked. “Because it kinda looks like you’d prefer to be dining with literally anyone else.”

“Kinda wondering if it was worth it,” Lawrence said with an unamused smirk. 

Kendall breathed a laugh through his nose. It caught Lawrence’s attention and a shred of his curiosity until he remembered that Kendall bore the Roy name, at which point he fell disinitered. Lawrence downed the last sip of wine from the bottom of his wine glass and ordered a his third refill with a whispered order to the server to, “Stay close.”

Shiv’s friend was a Mr. Nate Sofrelli, who Tom didn’t look too pleased to be dining with. Kendall caught the way his sister looked at Nate. He might have felt a little pity for Tom, the same as Kendall did when Tom only seemed to relish in the worst of Logan’s habits. Kendall didn’t think by any means Tom was as depraved as he would like to come off as; there was some weird tendency shared by many who associated with the Roys as if being a terrible person was something deeply respectable to them, but that still did not spare him from his actions.

Connor, who was rarely ever in attendance at dinner as well as his family’s lives, was present with his very special friend, Ms. Willa Ferreyra. She could have been a model or an actress in another life but in this one she was stuck at the Roy table, a poorly-veiled frown on her face as she sipped constantly from her wine glass. 

“Connie,” Roman said, “you do understand the arrangement when I give you special numbers don’t you? Like, it’s usually a one night thing. You give her money and she goes. She doesn’t stay around.”

“Roman,” Connor snapped, “I don’t appreciate the way you’re talking to my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Logan barked. “What girlfriend?”

“Willa, Dad. Willa’s my girlfriend.”

Logan laughed grossly. Connor’s face fell. “We’ll see if she’s really your girlfriend when you can’t fit the bill anymore.”

And then there was Kendall. Kendall didn’t have a friend. The only empty chair at the entire table was situated immediately to Kendall’s right. Logan glared. 

“Where’s Naomi?” he groused. “I thought I told you to invite her.”

“Uh, yeah. I did.” Kendall sat up a bit straighter. “She said she was sick.”

“Then why the fuck are you here and not over there taking care of her?” Logan quieted his voice to a condescending hush, but that just made his words hit all that harder. “Son, can you at least try a bit harder? Be the good boyfriend. Go rub her back. Take her treats. Say ‘yes, honey,’ the whole thing. There are certain duties you have to take up when you have a wife and being selfless is one of them. I really regret spoiling you so much. You’re rotten because of it, you know that? I say the word ‘selfless’ and I forget it’s like I’m speaking another language to you. Selfless, as in, ‘not thinking of yourself.’ I know; hard for you to imagine. Kendall.”

Kendall met his father’s venomous gaze boring into him. 

“You fuck this up for me,” Logan said, “and it’ll be the last thing you ever fucking do. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, Dad.” Kendall lowered his gaze to his plate. “I know.”

In all actuality, Kendall had not called Naomi. 

He hadn’t really thought about her at all. Not in a malicious way; Naomi was a lovely person, and that was just another reason Kendall couldn’t marry her. He had spared her from pretty much all interaction with his family after discovering her to be greatly undeserving of their dysfunctional hijinks.

But Kendall had also been too distracted last night after returning home from the restaurant. His lips had been on fire, his mind fuzzy. He’d been in a daze that entire evening, captivated by the taste of the stranger’s tongue on his own, not a stranger anymore. 

Stewy.

That name repeated again and again in his mind in a never ending chant like a prayer to Kendall’s one true love.

_ Stewy.  _

“Ah fuck!” The Roy patriarch dropped his spoon onto his plate with a sharp clatter. “Kendall!” he shouted. “Go see what’s going in the kitchen! You don’t have a guest anyway, so hurry up and go ask Frank where he gets off giving us cold potatoes. Then tell him to take these back and give us some warm ones.”

Kendall nodded clumsily. He stood from his chair with his father’s appetizer plate of seasoned potatoes in hand. 

Kendall had never despised Frank. He, quietly, rather liked him. It was apparent when someone was passionate about their work and Kendall could see that very passion reflected in Frank’s cooking. Every meal was cooked to perfection and toiled over with actual care. Every forkful was a dream realized.

Kendall had hopes and dreams too.

When he was younger, Kendall’s dreams were much more abundant but he’d grown jaded over time and after his most recent exile, his aspirations had greatly died. But there remained the embers of ambition glimmering dimly within him.

Crime was what he knew. Kendall had been born in it, brought up in it. But he had come to realize his father’s technique wasn’t the only way to go about it. He could imagine a cleaner way, a more respectable way, and while the morality of such influence remained questionable, if they did it Kendall’s way, they would be able to cut out at all the unnecessary brutality. They could be less a group of thugs and more a well of information for anyone to delve into, only if they paid a pretty penny of course.

Kendall could see it. It was semi-clear. He knew if he just had the chance, he could make it something of a reality.

That was never going to happen though. 

His father ruled and Kendall was just the once-exiled prince past his prime. The kingdom would be driven into the ground once he ascended to power, and even then, it might be in such shambles it wouldn’t be worth it outside of finishing the job and making the Roy name a disgraced relic. 

Kendall stepped past occupied tables on his way to the kitchen but found Stewy’s table was empty, all except an appetizer plate and a book—a new one this time—resting beside it. He must have been in the bathroom. Kendall was tempted to join him so they could finish what they had started the day before but his family was at his back and he thought it too suspicious and risky to flee into the bathroom without any of them noticing.

Steam, soft as silk, enveloped Kendall as he stepped into the kitchen. The smell of spices met him too, and while strong, they complimented and harmonized with one another. The moonlight through the high windows reflected off the kitchen walls in a green sheen matching Kendall’s sash. It took a second for his eyes to adjust but once they did, he was witness to the dance inside.

Cooks with finished dishes waltzed from wall to wall while hurried servers two-stepped to the door of the dining room. Clattering pots and pans, the rush of water, and the sweet singing coming from Greg made up the symphony for this scene. Kendall had never been a good dancer but he managed to make his way to the large island in the center of the kitchen and clung to it so he might be caught in the current of moving bodies. 

“Yes, Kendall. How can I help you?”

Frank made his way over to the wayward Roy as he wiped his hands on a nearby green hand towel and threw it onto his shoulder. 

“Dad said the potatoes were cold.” Kendall presented the plate and the sad heap of potato upon it. He cleared his throat in abject embarrassment. “He was just rambling too long and let them get cold. Mine were fine. Better than fine. Delicious.”

Frank gave a smirk. “Well thank you,” he said. “You’re here on his wish, I presume.”

“That’s always how it goes.”

The night Kendall had been brought back into the family, he’d been brought here. He was dirty and tired but the Roys had used his return as an excuse to party when Kendall needed literally anything else. Frank had been ordered to slaughter the proverbial fattened calf and fixed Kendall’s plate with more food than even his father’s. 

Frank had come out into the dining room under the guise of asking them about their meal, but he’d stood close to Kendall while addressing the sloshed dinner party. 

“And you, sir?” Kendall remembered Frank asking him as he leaned down ever so slightly. Logan had been too drunk to see this happening or to think much of it. “Have you had your fill or can I get you something else? We can accommodate for anything you need at this time, within our ability of course.”

Kendall shook his head. He had been somewhat surprised by this proposal; that had been the first time that night anyone had asked if he was okay or if he needed something. What he really needed was to leave. He was grimy from the street and exhausted, somewhat sick after being hungry for so long. But Frank had spoken to him in the quietest hush, a considerate hand on his shoulder. “I’ve sent an attendant to wait in the bathroom. He’ll get you a hot towel if you’d like to wash up, and a toothbrush and toothpaste. He has aspirin and anti-acids as well. I know it’s not much, but it might help.”

Kendall hadn’t taken him up on the offer. He had been in this weird state of not being ready to accept kindness; he’d hated himself for coming back, hated himself for the kind of person this meant he’d have to be. But Frank’s display of genuine kindness had not been lost on him. 

The huge kitchen doors groaned loudly as they cracked open. Kendall turned and went breathless at the sight of Stewy, standing inside the kitchen in his green suit. 

Frank’s brow knitted together. He looked just about to ask who he was and what he was doing in his kitchen until Frank caught Kendall’s devoted gaze on this stranger as he approached warily through the chaos of the kitchen. 

Kendall reached out to him. Stewy’s fingers met his once he was within reaching distance. Their fingers threaded together tightly.

Frank looked between the two men unconcerned about anything other than each other. Greg watched curiously too from where he was elbow deep in the sink washing dishes. The poor server was near gaping when, cast in a dreamy haze of steam from the nearby skillets, Stewy leaned in and pressed a long, tender kiss to Kendall’s cheek. Kendall leaned into him, his eyes sliding shut and a soft sigh pushing past his lips.   
  
The stirring of soup slowed. The cutting of onions and parsley ceased altogether. The entire kitchen stared at the pair with expressions of shock carved into their faces. 

_ “Allez!” _ Frank called out to the kitchen with a wave. “We have orders to fill! No waiting around!”

The kitchen turned back to their duties while Frank turned back to the two now leaning against each other. 

Kendall couldn’t make eye contact with Frank. He looked to his shoes, the wall, anywhere else. But Frank’s strong but knowing gaze was persistent and Kendall finally looked up with the only expression he could muster: a silent pleading. 

Logan couldn’t find out. If it was up to Kendall, no one would know about him and Stewy and the relationship they were nurturing together, the love that was blossoming there as fast and out of control as English ivy. 

There was no way Kendall could accurately express the extent of this feeling and what Stewy already meant to him. It was strange, but maybe it wasn’t all that strange. Saints had apparently floated in the throes of spiritual ecstasy, the world had once been encased in ice, and Kendall had been spared from the end of his father’s pistol; miracles happened everyday.

Kendall opened his mouth but his childhood stutter teetered on the tip of his tongue as he tried to voice something, he didn’t know what. 

But then Frank shushed him with the same gentleness a father would his beloved son. The head chef came closer, setting aside the towel that had once been in his grip and reached out to squeeze Kendall’s shoulder. His eyes reflected a kind understanding. 

Something like pity too, perhaps. 

A muffled bellow sounded behind the doors to the dining room. 

Terrible images flashed in Kendall’s mind at the violence that would beget him if only his father were to see him here with Stewy’s fingers interlaced with his own, a small blush still dusting his cheeks from when Stewy had kissed him. 

Frank tightened his grip on Kendall’s bicep, pulling him from his paralyzing fear. 

“Hurry; the both of you,” Frank hissed and ushered the lovers quickly into the kitchen’s pantry. 

The pantry was a cave-like dwelling hollowed out in the wall. The shelves lining each wall were crowded with jars of sweet jams, pickled olives and a myriad of spices stuffed into glass containers and canvas bags. Wheels of cheese were stacked upon one another on the top shelves beside braids of fresh bread. Cured meats and sausage links like meaty ribbon hung from hooks on the ceiling beneath the soft golden light of the old lamp tacked to the wall.

Frank gave the lovers a reassuring nod and drew fast a green curtain to obscure them from view.

The curtain was thick enough that they could not see Logan enter the kitchen but they could hear the doors groaning as they opened and shut, followed then by his heavy footsteps. 

Stewy wrapped his arms around Kendall’s waist from behind and pulled him closer into his protective grasp. 

“Frank! Is my son in here?”

“No, sir,” Frank said cooly. The thud of Kendall’s heartbeat in his ears was near-deafening.

“He said he’d come in here!”

“He already informed me of the cold potatoes—my greatest apologies. But I’m not sure where he’s gone. I’m rather busy, Logan; I don’t have time to keep track of every person who wanders into my kitchen.” His voice was curt. “Now if you’d please return to the dining room. I have orders to complete.”

Logan grunted in annoyed resignation. “He’s probably gone out to take a call from his girlfriend.”

“That’s very plausible.”

There was a tense pause, then more footsteps beneath the clatter of pans and the creak of shutting oven doors. Kendall gripped Stewy’s forearms tightly. 

“My boy’s getting married soon, Frank,” Logan said. “He still has to propose but she’ll say yes. I expect you to cater the event.” 

“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Roy.”

“If you see him,” Logan said, “tell him to hurry back to the table. He’s missing such great company.” He hardly sounded sincere. 

Kendall kept his eyes trained on the curtain as he stroked his thumb back and forth over the skin of Stewy’s wrist. They were frightened as the curtain pulled back abruptly, the both of them drawing in sharp breaths only then to breathe a sigh of relief when they saw it was only Frank.

“He’s gone,” Frank whispered, then let the curtain close once more. 

Kendall could barely breathe. He hoped the look on his face expressed the extent of his thankfulness when he was too out of breath to respond.

That had been close. Too close. Dangerously close. The tense air of shakiness surrounding them resonated with the same feeling as if they’d just narrowly escaped an attack. 

Kendall turned in Stewy’s arms. He hung his head, rested a hand in the middle of Stewy’s chest. Stewy’s heartbeat thrummed beneath his palm, racing at such a pace that made Kendall want to take care of him. Stewy cupped Kendall’s cheek. Kendall leaned into it with a stuttered breath, brows tented with both yearning and sincere apology for subjecting Stewy to his fucked up family, however inadvertently. 

Kendall slid his hand upward, fingers curling at the side of Stewy’s throat over his strong pulse, his fingers stroking Stewy’s cheek and tracing over his bottom lip. Stewy took him by the hips. Kendall drew in a quiet breath when the soft lips beneath his fingers pursed ever so slightly to press a chaste kiss to them.

Kendall took hold of Stewy’s cheek and kissed him.

_ I dreamed about you last night _ , Kendall wanted to say but thought the movement of his lips against Stewy’s might somehow convey this fact.  _ I dreamed you were with me, like this. I almost cried when I woke up alone.  _

Kendall’s breath drew faster in through his nose. He nipped at Stewy’s bottom lip, his eyes burning. 

Stewy soothed him with his hands plastered to the quivering skin of Kendall’s lower back, warm and constant. 

They slid out of their clothes. The pantry was thankfully not cold, warmed both by the kitchen and the golden glow of light. 

They were beautiful in the lamplight. It glittered like crushed stardust across their bare shoulders and where it dusted their cheeks. The light dripped down Stewy’s bare torso, sparkling in the dark curls of his chest hair. He looked like a god and Kendall went to his knees to worship him. 

Kendall’s fingers trailed over Stewy’s strong thighs, his waist, his sides. Having Stewy, hot and hard and heavy, on his tongue steadied something previously restless in Kendall and he was at peace for the first time that night. 

Stewy moaned as Kendall took him deep. He threaded his fingers through his Kendall’s hair, fingernails scratching lightly across his scalp. Stewy bent over him, rubbing up and down Kendall’s back and squeezing the back of his neck before taking him by the biceps and helping him up just long enough to maneuver them to the floor. Stewy leaned up against a nearby crate and took Kendall into his lap.

Kendall smiled and let out a sigh when Stewy finally slid into him. The burn was good. Kendall had felt pain many times, most notably at the other side of his father’s hand, but this was something good, something ecstatic. This was burning  _ for _ someone rather than  _ because _ of someone. This was the pain Kendall wanted, not sharp and acute but hot and pulsing.

Stewy’s mouth was wet against his throat. He kissed Kendall’s Adam’s apple and mouthed at his pulse, dragging his teeth there but not hard enough as to leave a mark. His hands remained firm on Kendall’s waist as they worked together to roll down and thrust up in tandem. Precum gathered at the head of Kendall’s dick, glistening there before trailing down his shaft in translucent beads. Kendall grabbed hold of Stewy’s face and leaned down to kiss him. 

Kendall wanted to give him everything, and in that moment, he might have truly meant the world.

“You feel so good,” Stewy breathed against Kendall’s lips. Kendall smiled softly; his lover’s voice was sounding strained in a way that spoke of his approaching orgasm. Kendall clenched tightly around him and drew another hiss from Stewy’s lips. 

_ “Right there,”  _ Kendall moaned, mouth falling open and arms wrapping around Stewy’s neck. “You’re right there.”

Stewy, encouraged now, rolled his hips a fraction faster. His eyes never left Kendall’s face. He seemed in awe, like how one might look at a painting done by a master artist. His open palm slid down Kendall’s chest from his throat, his twitching stomach, to his throbbing dick so full that it hurt. 

Kendall whined as Stewy took him into his hand and began stroking, palm sliding over the head on every upstroke.

Heat grew and lashed at Kendall’s insides in flames of searing pleasure. His limbs trembled. His fingernails bit into Stewy’s shoulders. Beads of sweat inched down Kendall’s spine and gathered at the dimples of his lower back. Kendall continued to rock back and forth, into Stewy’s fist and then back onto Stewy’s cock.

It happened suddenly, every toe-curling sensation coursing through Kendall’s body convening all at once. Kendall let out a pathetic hiccup and managed a hard grind down into Stewy’s lap before losing that very last shred of his resolve. His vision went fuzzy, stars dancing in his periphery. Saliva gathered at the corners of his mouth. His hips worked on their own accord, circling and rocking harder than before until eventually coming to a stop. 

The splatter of semen across the both of their stomachs was rather artistic. Some had fallen into the cusp of Kendall’s bellybutton, a bead or two dribbling over Stewy’s knuckles. 

Kendall could feel every one of Stewy’s thrusts anew. He was sensitive, his body shivering with the aftershocks of his orgasm. Stewy was impossibly hard inside of Kendall’s body, and Kendall adored him, took pity on him when he felt the throb of Stewy’s dick inside of him. 

“Do it.” Kendall stroked back the black curls fallen over Stewy’s forehead. “Please, Stewy; need it.”

His name came like a prayer on Stewy’s lips.  _ “Kendall.” _

Kendall’s eyes fell half-closed and his mouth half-open as Stewy grew a fraction thicker before pulsing inside of him. Kendall wished he could capture the breathtaking expression on Stewy’s face as he emptied himself, that debauched brilliance gilded in a soft gold sheen. 

Their lips joined together once more in a sated, slow kiss.

Stewy did not seem to mind the spunk cooling on his stomach; he wore it like a badge of honor, like a tattoo of Kendall’s love. Kendall had no desire to pull himself from Stewy’s lap, wanted in some weird way to keep him close and taken care of. 

Stewy wrapped his arms around Kendall’s sweaty body as Kendall leaned against him. Stewy kissed Kendall’s shoulder, his throat, trailed his fingers up and down his spine. 

They could hear the commotion of the kitchen crew as they fulfilled orders. Pans hissed, oven doors slammed shut. The kitchen doors groaned as servers moved in and out. The world was still turning but in this little room, this thing between them felt like it could last forever. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Here](https://youtu.be/MvyIgTVbM7A) is some of the film's score, which I listened to on repeat as I wrote this lol


End file.
